By March 2040. Back home in Denver but I keep thinking about Las Cruces, about the back porch and the conversation with Papá, about Mamá's flan and the way the birria tasted at altitude after we drove back through the mountains. I've been making birria since the visit — not Mamá's version, which requires cattle and days, but my own adaptation, with beef chuck and dried chiles and a broth that you can serve as consommé alongside. I've made it three times in three weeks and I think I'm getting closer to what I'm trying to find in it, which is not Mamá's recipe exactly but the feeling of that kitchen.
The book is about three hundred pages of notes and stories now. Elena has been editing a third of it — she sends back pages with margin notes that are frank and useful and occasionally say things like "this sentence does too much, cut the second half" with the confidence of someone who has been making that call in her own writing for fifteen years. I'm learning to hear it as information rather than judgment. It's not that different from film review, honestly. You're watching something you produced, with someone else's eyes, trying to see what they see rather than what you intended.
I called David Okafor to check in. He's in spring practice, same as I would be. He said the program feels good, chemistry is developing, he has a sophomore class that could be exceptional. I said: don't get excited about sophomores. He said: said the man who won fifteen championships. I said: I got excited about sophomores and paid for it. He said: understood. Then he said: Coach — he still calls me Coach, which I've stopped correcting — he said: I talk to the players about you sometimes. About what you built. I said: they don't need my shadow. He said: they don't have your shadow. They have the program you left. Those are different things. I said: that's a good distinction. He said: I've had a good teacher.
Between the third batch of birria and the manuscript pages Elena sent back with her frank, useful margin notes, I needed something fast and satisfying that didn’t require two days and dried chiles—something I could make in one pan while I turned a sentence over in my head. Skillet nachos are what I reach for in those in-between moments, the ones where you’re not celebrating yet but you’re close enough to feel it. There’s something in the layering—the way you build it up, adjust, pull it out at exactly the right moment—that feels a little like coaching, a little like writing, and a little like what David meant when he said the program I left and my shadow are different things.
Skillet Nachos
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 8 oz tortilla chips
- 2 cups shredded Monterey Jack or cheddar cheese, divided
- 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
- 1/2 lb ground beef or shredded chicken, cooked and seasoned
- 1/2 cup pickled jalapeño slices
- 1/2 cup pico de gallo or fresh salsa
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1 avocado, diced
- 2 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1/2 tsp cumin
- 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
- Salt and pepper to taste
- 1 tbsp olive oil or neutral oil
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 400°F. Lightly oil a 12-inch cast iron or oven-safe skillet.
- Build the first layer. Spread half the tortilla chips in an even layer across the skillet. Scatter half the beans, half the cooked meat, and 1 cup of the shredded cheese over the chips.
- Add the second layer. Top with the remaining chips, beans, and meat. Finish with the remaining 1 cup of cheese. Distribute the jalapeño slices evenly across the top.
- Bake. Transfer the skillet to the oven and bake for 12—15 minutes, until the cheese is fully melted and beginning to bubble at the edges.
- Finish and garnish. Remove from the oven. Spoon pico de gallo over the nachos, then top with diced avocado, sour cream, and sliced green onions. Serve immediately, directly from the skillet.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 620 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 34g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 8g | Sodium: 780mg